


Companion Pieces - Forged Through Fade and Flame

by Grace Kay (Drummerchick7)



Series: Forbidden Magic [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drummerchick7/pseuds/Grace%20Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments smutty, funny, emotional, and otherwise which do not fit into the main narrative of Forged Through Fade and Flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sera's Pranks

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be a companion piece to Forged Through Fade and Flame. One-shots that I can't fit into FTFF, or which perhaps elude me when the time was right. The first few will take place during the winter I skipped between O Seeker Still Seeking and Forged Through Fade and Flame. Some will be fun, some will be smutty, others will be fluffy and/or full of feels. Anything is game.
> 
> They might stand alone, but they'll make most sense if you're following along with the main story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To start, we have a request from Mischieftess, who gave me the idea during a brainstorming session and therefore was awarded the first chapter as a request. And she requested: Sera's Pranks.

Sera watches from the rafters as Josephine Montilyet sits at her desk, absorbed in her work. She's been up here for _hours_ waiting for Miss Prissy-Pants to frigging _finish_ or leave or _something_. She can't move until the ambassador leaves the office.

_I hope she does it soon. My leg's startin' to cramp…_

The door opens, but it's someone coming in, not leaving. She uses the slight creak of the door to cover the sound of her leg moving, relieving the cramp. White hair flashes, and then the Inquisitor's face is staring up at her. Sera moves her hand, placing her finger over her lips in the universal sign for "shut it." The other elf's eyes narrow, but she nods, shutting the door behind her.

"Inquisitor!" Josephine exclaims. "I was not expecting you. What can I do for you, your Worship?"

The Inquisitor sighs. She hates that title. Sera can tell by the way her shoulders are still tense on the exhale. _Should come up with something else, just us. Don' want her gettin' used to it, gettin' all high 'n mighty… Inquisitart? Your Fartship? No… need one she'd actually let me use…_ Sera keeps thinking of nicknames for the Inquisitor through the boring conversation below, nearly laughing out loud at some of them. But her attention snaps back to the two below her when the ambassador follows Zanneth out of the room.

Taking her chance, Sera swings down from the rafters. She takes the large mop bucket stored between the reading chair and the wall in the corner, climbs the back of the chair, and sets the bucket on top of the open door. She then hurries back to the bookcase, scaling its shelves just as she hears Josephine's voice, growing closer. Putting on a burst of speed, she swings back up into the rafters just as the door begins to move.

"I do not know if- ah!" The bucket falls, dousing the Lady Amb-arse-ador's – _that's a good one!_ – pretty hair and expensive dress in soapy water normally used for mopping the floor. It was perhaps cruel, but… _nah. Gotta get her head out of her arse!_

Sera devolves into giggles, nearly falling out of the rafters at the look of complete and utter astonishment on Josephine's face. The tiny smile on the Inquisitor's face just eggs on her laughter, and finally she has to get down, or she'll _fall_ down. Her giggling never stops, however.

" _You_!" It's all Josephine can manage, spluttering and wiping mucky water from her face. It just makes Sera laugh harder.

She is finally ousted by several guards; their Inquisition tabards look so official it makes Sera want to spit. The moment her arse touches the floor, she's off in search of another mark.

"Sera, wait!"

Sera stops dead, turning to see the Inquisitor had followed her out of the ambassador's office. "What can I do fer ya, Inky?"

Zanneth furrowed her brows. "Inky?"

"Yeah, ya know. Inquisitor. Inky. Can't call you that mouthful all the time."

Those white brows furrow further, but the elf connected to them merely shakes her head. "All right." _Right! Got one she'll let me keep!_ "Why did you do that to Josephine?"

"What, prank her? Cuz." Sera shrugs. "Needed to be done, it did."

"I don't follow."

Sera sighs. "Right. Come on. You need a lesson."

"A lesson?"

"Yeah. A lesson." She halts, seeing another familiar white head shining in the crisp mountain air. "Oy! Solona!"

The mage looks up, then begins jogging over to them. "What can I do for you, Sera?"

"Help me teach her why we prank," Sera says, hiking her thumb over her shoulder at the Inquisitor. "Come on. I need a drink."

Solona takes this in stride, nodding sagely before throwing her arm around Zanneth's shoulders and dragging her along. "Come along, Zanneth," she says. "It's important work, and Sera is particularly good at it."

Several minutes later, they're huddled around a small table in the quiet tavern. Sera hates it. No tavern should be this quiet after sunset. It prompts her to launch right into her speech. "Right. So. Listen 'round you. Ya hear tha'?"

"Hear… what, exactly?" Zanneth says, polite interest written all over her face.

Frig that. Sera doesn't need polite interest. She needs _invested_ interest. "This is a tavern. Where's th' hullaballoo? Where's th' noise? Where's th' _drunk people_?!" She shakes her head. "This place is a death camp. We lost too many, and people are mournin'. And those who aren't… they're surrounded by _this_." She gestures at the tavern in general.

"I don't understand…"

Solona takes over. Sera can't make her see, can't speak in the way Inky needs. She knows it, knows the two of them can't always communicate. She supposes it makes sense she'd have a hard time making a Dalish see her point – they don't have taverns. Do they?

"It's not that mourning is bad, necessarily, it's just that it's _all_ anyone's doing. You have a tavern-full of people drinking alone, Zanneth. Taverns are for jovial get-togethers, for getting drunk and ridiculous. No one's getting ridiculous. The mood in Skyhold is somber. Sera's aim is to raise the mood around the castle. People can still mourn, but… we need to have some fun, too."

Zanneth stares into her drink for a moment before her dark eyes lift to Sera. "With dirty mop water?"

"Oy! 'M only one person! I do wha' I can! If I had _more_ …" She grins. "Imagine what _we_ could do?! Th' three of us!"

"A whole hell of a lot better than a bucket and water," Solona says, nodding. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well… since you're here, and you have magic…"

She hunkers down, getting quiet while she spins her plans.

* * *

The next morning finds Sera barricaded behind a snow wall at the base of the steps leading up to the keep. Normally, the grounds of Skyhold are free of snow, even when snow is actively falling. But Solona had worked some magic, and now the entire upper courtyard outside the keep is covered in a thick blanket of the fine, powdery stuff. It's _perfect_ for snowballs.

Zanneth and Solona are barricaded with her, Zanneth somewhat bemused, though she builds snowballs without much complaint. They've built themselves quite the little snow fort. Time will beat it down, of course, but the point is to eventually be covered in snow. It's a frigging snowball fight, after all.

The first boot that leaves the keep is, thankfully, Revka's. She's a lot more fun than her husband. "Lady Revka!" Sera yells, then tosses her snowball. It hits the pregnant woman in the foot. Another flies, this one hitting her right in the face. Sera glances over to see Solona standing tall, grinning like an idiot. She _would_ hit her pregnant sister in the face with a snowball.

It takes Revka a moment to recover, but then her voice raises over the grounds. "What's this then?"

"Why don't ya come over'n find out!" Sera yells, packing another snowball together. "Or are ya going to head back in like a sissy fancy-pants who can't get a little snow on her?"

Recka smirks. Her steps have taken her halfway down the stairs. A dangerous direction if she doesn't want to get hit again. "How about I join you and help you get Cullen good?"

Sera stares for a moment before a grin overtakes her face. "Yeah!" she yells. Another snowball flies. Solona stands unrepentant, still grinning.

"Why you…" Revka kneels, making her own snowball. It is small, but her aim is true. Solona attempts to dodge, but Zanneth of all people sticks out a foot, stumbling her, allowing Revka's snowball to hit her. Apparently the elfy elf _does_ have a sense of humor. _Should make sure she's laid regular-like if I want to cause any mayhem…_

It is suddenly war. Snowballs are hurtled in all directions, all four of them their own agent. It is good to see a smile on the normally-somber Zanneth's face, and to hear her laughter lift on the mountain air. It's something Sera hasn't heard much, unless you count the times she's listened in on her and the Seeker gettin' busy. Just the thought flushes her face. Zanneth isn't her type, but Cassandra sure is – as long as her mouth is kept shut. Too broody, that one, but the tall and the muscles? _Yum_.

Over time, they are joined by Bull, Kremy, and even Josephine. Cullen is hit in the face with a snowball, but stomps away, a pout on his face at having his wife against him. Leliana peeks out over the balcony outside the rookery, but doesn't join them. Considering she's deaf, Sera can't blame her. It is enough to know she has noticed, and that Solona sees her, waves, and goes back to the mayhem.

Soldiers join in, mages, templars, workmen, and every single child on the grounds. No one is off-limits, and almost everyone who is hit joins, as the damn _Inquisitor_ is throwing the snowballs. But then Cassandra is standing atop the steps.

Sera doesn't notice at first, but her loud and sharp, "What is the meaning of this?!" rings out, silencing _everyone_. A snowball sails through the air. Sera watches it glide smoothly toward the keep. Cassandra easily side-steps it, but her face is aghast. Glancing back, Sera sees that it is Zanneth, the Seeker's own lover, who threw the projectile. She stifles a laugh. This should be fun.

Zanneth merely stands, a smile on her face, another snowball in her hand. Cassandra frowns. But the Inquisitor is impervious to the power of the Seeker's glower, and with a twinkle of mischief, she throws the second snowball.

Sera exchanges a look with Solona. Simultaneously, they bend, gathering material for their own projectile. A few around her do, as well, including Josephine and Revka. And then, as one, several balls sail through the air.

Solona's is the one that hits the Seeker. Sera lets out a mad cackle of laughter as Cassandra attempts to continue looking dignified.

"She's going to kill ya, Solona," Sera manages between gasps for air.

"Like Cassandra scares me," Solona replies, grinning and throwing another one.

Looking up, Sera sees Cassandra is running. Her heart skips, but it is not in Sera's direction the Seeker runs. The Herald lets out a yell, taking off across the courtyard, lighter and faster on her feet than Cassandra. They disappear down some stairs, off in the direction of another courtyard that is not covered in snow. Sera smiles. They really are matched well. Who else could get Cassandra to run after them with such a warm smile on her face instead of murder? It would absolutely be murder if the Seeker were to be chasing after _Sera_.

A snowball hits the back of Sera's head. She turns, wiping the resulting spray of snowflakes out of her eyes, to find Revka and Solona both grinning. Giggling, Sera gathers up the snow at her feet, letting loose toward Bull and Krem in the distance, who've built themselves fortification since joining an hour before. The Herald and the Seeker can bugger off to wherever they want. Sera has a frigging snowball fight to win!


	2. Solona Has A Cough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solona is pathetic, Leliana is emotional, and Filou the Cat is a total asshole. At Raven Sinead's request.

 

Solona coughs, loud and hard, the kind that smarts for some time after. Leliana only knows because she is watching her lover.

"Really, Solona, I am actually _glad_ I cannot hear you."

"Why?"

Leliana raises a brow. "Because you already look pathetic. The sound would make you doubly so."

Solona coughs again. Leliana rolls her eyes. "All right, that's it. Out. Let Sera and the Inquisitor care for your patients this night." She reaches for the mage's arm. Really, Solona has been racked by this cough on and off since coming to Skyhold three weeks before. Only rest will make her well, at this point.

"But I need to-"

Zanneth is behind the mage, smirking. "Let Leliana take care of you, Solona," she says, cutting the mage off. Leliana has given up staying in the shadows of Skyhold, or keeping her name a mystery. With Solona here, that could never happen. The arcane warrior lives her life on her own sleeve, for everyone to see. Loving her necessitates leaving the shadows. At least at home, at Skyhold, where their safe haven is. Outside this place, the mantle of shadow and mystery will always be firmly in place.

That does not mean Leliana is not a mystery here, too, of course. It just means there are many rumors about her. Rumors are fine. She can use them to her advantage.

Solona submits after a coughing fit seizes her for over a minute, allowing Leliana to pull her to her feet. Keeping hold of one hand, Leliana leads Solona away from the infirmary, through the verdant garden – so strange when her body knows it is winter in Ferelden and Orlais – up the steps to the rampart, and into their bedchamber along the parapets above the garden. It is a secluded spot, perfect for Leliana, and close to the infirmary, which is perfect for Solona and her patients.

Depositing Solona on the bed covers, a handkerchief in her hand, Leliana goes to close the door. She smiles to see that Max, Bella, and Filou have all trailed them inside. _What a picture that must have been, the five of us processing through the garden_. Bella hops up onto the bed with Solona. Max tries, but stops with his forelegs on the bed and his back feet on the floor, looking over his shoulder for Leliana's help.

"Poor boy," Leliana coos, moving to him. "Getting so old." Her eyes snap up to Solona. "Stay there. I will help him." _And I will speak with one of the carpenters on the morrow for a set of steps for him_.

Taking one massive paw in each hand, Leliana hoists Max up onto the bed, where he immediately wiggles his tail-less rump, circles three times, and settles with his massive head in Solona's lap.

"Like a puppy," Leliana murmurs. The dog is not the only one who is still so happy to have Solona home. The spymaster pushes herself up, climbing upon the bed and leaning over Solona's lap.

Solona's hands catch her shoulders, and she shakes her head. "No," her lips say. "I don't want to get you sick." She inhales, turns her head, and seizes with another fit of coughing.

Leliana smiles. "My dear girl, I have surely been exposed." She crawls closer, displacing Max in her lap for a moment. She can feel the vibration of the dog's _harrumph_. "You have been coughing since we came here. I will get sick, or I will not. I do not think there is any stopping it by keeping your mouth from mine."

Solona accepts her kiss, but it does not last long. The poor thing cannot _breathe_ , as she woke with her nose stopped up this morning. Leliana pushes away, getting to her feet. Max immediately lays his head back in Solona's lap, followed by Bella.

"Traitor," Leliana tells the younger dog. She just blinks back, unrepentant. Leliana is her master, but Solona was the one to select her from her litter, to train her, and she is Max's master – Bella's sire. She obeys Leliana, but she loves Solona as deeply as a hound is capable, as deeply as she loves Leliana herself. Leliana smiles, admiring the literal dogpile that is her unorthodox family.

She is nearly overcome. Stifling the tears that prick at her eyes, she turns, intent on stoking the coals and restarting the fire. Her thoughts have been doing this of late. Just seeing Solona's face is still enough to send her into tears. It is most unbecoming of a spymaster, and of the Left Hand of the Divine. But she can hardly help it. Her mind swirls with memories all too easily, set off by Solona's scent; by the sight of the mage at play with the dogs, running about the floor of the rookery late at night when no one else is about, upsetting the birds; by the feel of her lover's breath upon the back of her neck.

Solona has been such a rock in her life. Her new life, as Leliana likes to think of it, the life she has led since leaving her hiding place in the Lothering Chantry. Solona helped her be rid of Marjolaine for good. Solona helped her see that she could have friendships with others when they traveled to Amaranthine. Solona was the reason she was here, serving the Maker's purpose. Solona's face had been shown to her in her vision in Lothering, and it was with Solona that Leliana had seen her new vision – of the Inquisition, she now knew – in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Solona is the North that Leliana's internal compass points to, and without Solona there, Leliana's needle had circled and circled, lost.

And then she saw – literally _saw_ – what Solona had been through, what had made her disappear, and Leliana was ashamed. Ashamed, and amazed, and so fiercely proud that Solona held on long enough for help to come.

The very fact that Solona is alive, warm and healthy and _here_ , is still enough to bring Leliana to tears sometimes.

This is one of those times.

The tears spill over as Leliana stacks wood in the hearth. She wipes at her eyes with her sleeves, but continues, stacking kindling beneath the wood. The coals catch almost immediately, and Leliana watches the flames spring to life. She recalls that the flames make a sound when they catch like that. She remembers the word: _whoosh_. She does not remember the sound, though; only the word for it.

She remembers countless fires. Some were good, some were bad. They used flame and hot irons to torture her in Orlais. Dorothea's fireside was warm and comfortable. Solona once set herself aflame to save Leliana in the Deep Roads. Leliana remembers _that_ in stark detail, even though she had been crushed by a broodmother tentacle at the time.

Warm hands rest on her shoulders, recalling her from her memories, where she had been lost, tears streaming down her cheeks. Warm hands traverse her shoulders, down her arms, before lifting and hovering in the air before her chest. Arms that get stronger by the day are wrapped around her shoulders, holding her even as those hands begin to gesture.

{ _Why do you weep, dear girl?_ }

Leliana leans back against her lover, further into that familiar embrace. "I am just… so happy you are in this room with me."

Solona's hands no longer gesture. Instead, they reach across Leliana's chest, pulling her in close. Then the world tilts, and Leliana is in her lover's arms. Her cowl falls from her face, exposing her smiling lips for the kiss Solona presses to them. It is short, closed-mouth. Leliana can feel that the mage _wants_ to cough – her breath catches in her chest and her whole body trembles for a moment as she forces back the paroxysm. She straightens, carries Leliana over to the bed, and settles with the former bard leaning against her.

"You need to cough, don't you?" Leliana says. She feels Solona's chin bob up and down against the top of her head. Her chest still trembles. Sitting up, Leliana turns and smirks. "Stay here. I'll help you relax."

She gets back to her feet, her earlier melancholy forgotten for the moment. She removes her cowl – so much easier now than it had been that first day of Solona's return six weeks before – pulls off her gloves and boots, followed shortly by her hose and shirt, leaving her nearly naked in the rapidly-warming air of their room. She looks behind her, quirking up an eyebrow at Solona, who openly stares as Leliana removes her breastband. Smirking, Leliana runs her hands briefly over her sides, over her hips, and down her thighs.

This is not actually a seduction, however, so she stops there, straightening before digging a nightshirt out of their bags – wardrobes for the rooms have not yet been constructed by the overburdened carpenters and workers who made it out of Haven. Pulling the knee-length, homespun garment over her head, Leliana pulls her too-long hair out and over her shoulders and returns to the bed. Then she leans over Solona, reaching for the hem of her tunic.

"Let's get you out of your clothes," Leliana murmurs, watching Solona's pupils dilate. She giggles. "And then I'll give you a massage."

The mage deflates a bit, but smiles, nodding her assent. She makes quick work of her own clothing, not bothering to pull anything on, as she is always so much warmer than anyone else around her. _She would die of the heat in Nevarra or Antiva. Or Rivain, for that matter_. This entertains Leliana, as her lover's dark skin is evidence of her grandfather's origins in the tropical climes of Rivain.

Solona settles with a pillow under her stomach, glorious body on display. Leliana's own breath hitches for a moment, taking in the expanse of her long legs and the twin globes of her bare rump. But she schools her reaction, laying her bare palms on her lover's back. In a perfect world, she would have oil available, but they only escaped Haven three weeks before and have not had the chance to set up trade for luxuries like that. So she gets to work with her hands dry, grateful that she can, grateful that Solona survived her second confrontation with Corypheus, grateful that her lover made it through the blizzard and hypothermia and every other force that has tried and failed to separate them permanently.

She works her hands into the muscles of her lover's back, delighted that Solona's ribs are no longer prominent. Her fingers catch in small divots, scars that should not be present, that would not be there if Solona had been able to access her power while held captive. They break Leliana's heart once more. She has known her fair share of scars. She bears none anymore, none except the utter failure of her ears to detect more than her own heartbeat. The most invisible scar, her greatest vulnerability.

She shakes her head clear. This is about Solona, about the hot, healthy body beneath her. Solona coughs, just once, then settles again. Leliana can feel the mage's satisfied groan reverberate through her chest, and she smiles. This cough has lingered since their escape from Haven. The mage works herself too hard to properly recover, not sleeping well and throwing herself into sparring and magic-making without any thought for this lingering sickness. It flared today, stopping her nose and weakening her to the point where Leliana was able to persuade her to stop working.

Leliana's job now is to relax her lover, to allow her to get some rest. Her searching fingers find every knot, every muscle, every itch that needs scratching, working until Solona is a limp puddle upon the bed. Leliana smiles, feeling that Solona's breathing has eased, lengthened and smoothed until the mage is clearly sleeping. Leaving her there, naked and on her stomach, Leliana sits back, taking up some of the work she keeps in their room. She has so many agents checking in, now that her birds have found them. It makes for a lot of work, a lot of planning, a lot of long- and short-term schemes and secrets to keep and disseminate when it suits her cause.

The nature of her work is somewhat undermined by the not-quite grown cat that slinks into her lap.

" _Bonjour, Filou_ ," Leliana coos, smiling down at the black and white gentleman. He purrs, kneading her lap through her nightshirt. Leliana almost swears he is smiling up at her, accepting her scratching fingers behind his ears. He is warm and soft, keeping his fur clean in between his many hunting trips. She wonders if there are any other cats, if he will father a litter and soon have the grounds of the castle veritably _swimming_ in pest controlling kittens.

Solona's leg twitches in her sleep, and Filou _jumps_. She cannot hear it, of course, but Leliana imagines he growls and yowls as he lands on Solona's leg, digging his claws and teeth into the relaxed flesh of her calf.

"Filou, no!" Leliana exclaims, reaching for him. Solona is kicking her leg and swatting at the cat even as he holds on for dear life with his front legs, kicking her in return with his back paws. Ruffing his neck, the spymaster pulls him off and releases him on the floor. He retreats to their bags, hiding and hissing, eyes reflecting the firelight from the shadows in an altogether sinister way.

Leliana shakes her head. Solona is already healing herself, her eyes glowing brightly for a moment. As her eyes lose the glow, the mage smirks. "It almost seems silly to do that just for some cat scratches, but cat scratch fever sounds entirely unpleasant."

Leliana smiled. "I am sorry he hates you so."

"It's all ri- no!"

Leliana turns, watching as Solona grabs a now-pissing Filou by the ruff – he has soaked the sides of her rucksack, which is thankfully water-proofed – walks him to the door, and tosses him none-too-gently through it. She then returns, her eyes glowing again as she moves her hands over the rucksack. The yellow liquid is gathered in a ball in the air before Solona, and then the mage marches it over to the chamber pot. She returns, looking thoroughly put out, her eyes their normal grey.

Leliana is sheepish. "I truly am sorry. I cannot understand why he hates you so."

Solona sighs. "I have accepted it." She reaches out, tugging at Leliana's shirt, her expression pleading. "I can think of other ways to relax, however."

Leliana rolls her eyes, but removes her shirt, shooing the dogs as she crawls into her lover's arms. "Yes, my love. Lie back. I will work to relax you again."

Pressing a kiss to Solona's throat, Leliana gets to work, this time uninterrupted by a cat with completely misguided devotion.


	3. Solona Lost the Taint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana and Solona have an important realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff for you. Also, an important moment that I just couldn't fit into the story in the way I decided to break it up.

Against her sincerest wishes, Solona sits at the reins of one of the wagons. She tried to walk with the others, but she is still battered and bruised, and her ability to heal herself does not affect that. The wagon driver was more than happy to surrender his seat to the Hero of Ferelden. The tiny redhead that was her lover had bullied her into accepting it.

The sun is bright, the air is frigid, and the snow all around them brings horrid memories to her from the days before. Walking through the blizzard, keeping Zanneth behind her so the little elf could get some relief from the wind. Digging in the snow when it was clear they would not make it, taking refuge in a snow cave which the blizzard quickly added to. She and Zanneth lay together, their embrace unfamiliar but necessary.

They both suffered hypothermia in the end, and Zanneth now had frostbite on the tip of her ear. At some point in the coming weeks, Solona will have to do something about that for her. She can't salvage the dead tissue. But she can heal it immediately once it is amputated.

So much has happened in the last day. They were rescued, warmed, fed, and now Zanneth is Inquisitor and leading from the front. Solona can see her standing atop a hill of snow in the distance, where she has been scouting ahead, Bull and Cassandra ever at her side. The rest of the newly formed inner circle are nearby: Vivienne, Dorian, Solas, Varric, and Sera. Sera runs between them, skipping up ahead to check on everyone, and then slowing so she can hop up on the wagon with Solona. The girl has boundless energy. Solona doesn't remember a time when she had the kind of excess energy that would allow her to go _skipping through snowdrifts_.

It sounds like an exercise in futility. Of course, Solona does likely weight half again as much as Sera, at least. More once she regains all the weight and muscle she's lost.

One advantage of having so many mages with them is that the path can be cleared for the wagons. Rather than clearing the entire path, someone placed a charm on the first pair of horses. The snow moves to the side, and all subsequent wagons follow in the path made. The spell takes energy, however, so the mages take turns powering it for half an hour at a time. Some of the little ones are even helping, learning as they go. It's a game for them, and when they succeed, such cheering is raised.

It makes Solona smile.

Hers is not the chosen wagon for the job. She is third in line, driving a pair of riding horses. The poor things aren't accustomed to being beasts of burden, but stuck in the snow in the mountains with winter upon them, they all need to make sacrifices, the horses included. The trip is monotonous, cold, and miserable, and yet she can't help but feel grateful to be alive. Corypheus nearly killed her. She thought herself so powerful, and yet that ancient Magister nearly cost her everything.

How does he come to possess such an artifact? The device that held her captive in Alexius's custody was also of the elvhen. The Order of Arcane Warriors was more elvhen than human in Andraste's time. Perhaps there is some link? Perhaps the elves of old needed a way to control arcane warriors when they went rogue, much how the templars are _supposed_ to watch the Circle in case of possession?

But then, how did _Corypheus_ get these items? Surely he didn't just find _both_ of them by accident?

She sighs. She'll probably never know.

"Such thoughts written all over your face."

Solona blinks rapidly, almost needing to physically pull her attention back to the present. Leliana has sidled up next to her wagon, blue eyes sparking up at her. She wears her vestments and a cloak, but the cowl is pulled back, showing her long, red hair in its braid. It was short, at her chin, when Solona left Val Royeaux. Leliana hasn't had it cut since then. It makes Solona's heart fall. Solona was always the one who cut it for her. She's the only one Leliana trusts to do it.

The mage lifts her hands to speak, first laying the reins in her lap. { _I never did learn to keep my thoughts from my face_.}

Leliana smiles. "Or perhaps it is simply that I know your face so well. You did well enough at court."

{ _There is that._ }

"Might I join you, Hero?"

Solona smirks. { _What is this? Trying to keep us a secret?_ }

Leliana does not answer, climbing up next to her even as the wagon continues to slowly move. Solona watches, spying Leliana's lithe grace even under all the layers of her clothes. It is not the first time that she has noticed how the years have filled out Leliana's curves. She always possessed a feminine beauty, and was certainly curvier than Solona herself ever has any chance of becoming, but now the spymaster borders on voluptuous and Solona can't seem to get her fill even now, weeks after she was returned to the world. Of course, that might simply be because it was always hard to get her fill of her lover even before they were parted for a year and a half.

"In all honesty, though, Solona, what vexes you? Are you thinking on the blizzard?"

Solona sighs, handing the reins to Leliana so she can speak while the horses still receive direction. { _Not precisely. I was thinking of Haven. Of Corypheus. Of his elven artifacts and how they seem fashioned solely to work against people like me._ }

"Arcane warriors?"

{ _Yes. I was thinking that perhaps the elvhen created these objects specifically to work with or against their arcane warriors._ }

"The arcane warrior was once quite common among the People," Leliana nods. "It would follow that they might need some way to control them. _You_ are enough of a handful on your own. Imagine a sizeable force of people with your gifts?"

{ _It would be mayhem. I am powerful, but still human. I have made my mistakes. My judgment is far from infallible. Having a way to control someone who has gone insane… or if an arcane warrior had become possessed? Though I do not know how that could be possible. Demons and spirits are so much easier to recognize than they seem to be for regular mages…_ }

"Corypheus must have wished to control _you_ explicitly," Leliana muses. At Solona's questioning expression, she elaborates. "Well, when he could not control you through the taint, he leashed you and kept you from the Fade. If he could not use you, then he would keep you from intervening. The orb that gave Zanneth the Anchor also siphoned your magic. He is well-armed against _you_ specifically."

{ _You have a very good point._ }

"Upon thinking of it, I must say that what happened was really the best we could have hoped for," Leliana says after a moment, her voice somewhat shy, hesitant, entirely unlike her.

{ _How so?_ } Solona could be offended by Leliana saying that her capture and torture was _good_ , but she knows her lover well enough to know that's _not_ what she means.

"Think about it, Solona. If you still had the taint, you would be his thrall. You were tortured because he could not control you. He could not make you take him into the Fade. I shudder to think what doing that would have reduced you to. And it would have been with your _consent_. That, I think, is the scariest part." Leliana's voice becomes very quiet. "I have been forced to do many things, but never with my own permission. It's somehow even worse than not giving consent."

Solona is slayed. Her heart drops through her stomach and her eyes nearly well with tears. She stares over at her lover, seeing the fear of what could have been in those cerulean eyes. She never considered just how terrible it would have been if Corypheus had obtained all he wanted from her. She had been too focused upon how bad it _was_ when he did not. And it was _bad_. But if she had been coerced- nay, if she had _conspired_ to get Corypheus into the Fade, to the Black City and the Golden Throne?

And that says nothing for the power it would have taken. To generate that kind of power… Solona thinks she might have been left an empty husk after that, if she were alive at all. It very well could have caused the same kind of explosion that happened at the Conclave, only her own _body_ would have been at the center. And there would have been no Herald of Andraste to receive the Anchor, for there would have been no Anchor.

She finally speaks, forgoing hand gestures. "Leliana, I…"

"It is all right. It was bad enough as it was. I am just glad you retained your mind." Leliana pauses, cocking her head to the side. "I am far more interested in the fact that you no longer bear the taint. I… well, how did you not know? Does that mean Alistair does not bear the taint, as well?"

Solona frowns. "Corypheus spoke to that, actually." She begins gesturing as well as speaking, giving Leliana the option of where to look. "He said, 'The spirit healer cleansed you of the taint and robbed me of my tool.'" She cocks her head to the side. The memory is vivid, but she did not have the mental capacity at the time to think on his words. The spirit healer, though… "Leliana! It is Wynne. When she…"

Realization dawns upon Leliana's face, her skin turning white as a sheet. "Fort Drakon!"

"Yes!" Solona is getting excited now, but she tries to hold it in so Leliana can still understand her. "Wynne used all of her energy, all of the spirit's power, to heal you. It healed everyone else atop the fort, as well. I always assumed all it did to me was hasten the process of healing my body, but… it must have cleansed us of the taint, Leliana! Alistair, as well! He was up there with us!" She pauses, considering. "Elissa was in the Alienage…"

"So little Wynne would still bear the taint," Leliana finishes, nodding. She looked guilty when Solona mentioned Wynne's sacrifice, but now she looks almost as excited as Solona feels. "It is unfortunate, but… none of the rest of the children will be so affected!"

"Precisely!" Solona nearly jumps in her excitement. "Alistair would not have borne the taint for their conception!" She pauses, thinking for a moment. "But all that time. I've been without the taint for all this time…"

"Did you truly not know?"

Solona shakes her head. "There were signs, but I sincerely thought my tie to the darkspawn was not as strong without the archdemon there. I had no elder wardens to ask. In Amaranthine, I had the others to detect the 'spawn. I never asked Alistair. And…"

"What?"

"Well, my courses never returned. Alistair's fertility was restored through Morrigan, not through Wynne. So there was never any reason to ask him about _that_."

Leliana purses her lips. Any mention of that ritual Morrigan and Alistair performed puts her in a sour mood, despite the fact that Solona lives because of it. They have given up arguing about it. Solona does not know how she feels about Morrigan, but Leliana most assuredly _does_ : Morrigan is a snake, and the only thing she ever wanted was the Old God's soul. She broke Alistair's heart to obtain it, and she manipulated Solona into being friendly with her to keep her around long enough to fulfill her own selfish goals. Solona is not so sure, not after her conversations with Alistair, but Leliana's mind will not be changed.

Leliana moves deliberately around the topic, however. "So Corypheus found he could not use you as he had planned. Because of Wynne. Will her gifts never stop revealing themselves?"

"I don't know. But the greatest gift was giving you back to me, Leliana."

The bard smiles. "But now we know something else, too, Solona. She gave _you_ back to _me_. Twice over."

Solona is confused. "How? She saved me from Corypheus's control, yes, but…"

Leliana's eyes are wet as she answers. "She gave us the time we were sure we would not receive, Solona."

Again, Solona is flabbergasted, unable to do anything but slowly blink down at her lover. She remembers that night, when Leliana pulled the information about the Joining and the taint from Solona. It was a promise Solona regretted making, but at the same time, how could she really keep something so important from Leliana? The details of the Joining the bard perhaps didn't need to know, but her shortened lifespan? The fact that, by the age of fifty, Solona would begin to see the Old Gods in her sleep, would understand their Calling? That she would need to say goodbye, venture to the Deep Roads, and take as many of the darkspawn with her as she could before she lost her mind to them and became a servant of her blood enemy? Even if she'd wanted to, that was a lie Solona would be hard-pressed to keep, especially from _Leliana_ , former bard and, though she could not guess it at the time, future Left Hand of the Divine.

Leliana reacted badly, though, once Solona understood _why_ , it was also predictably. Leliana ran off into the wilderness to process all she had been told, Max giving chase to keep her warm in the chill of that autumn night. Solona stayed by the fire, first with Alistair for company, then alone, awaiting her lover's return. It turned out all right, of course, but still Solona remembers it.

And now Solona sees why Leliana would side-step an argument about Morrigan, why she would be happy even while speaking of what might have befallen Solona if Corypheus had succeeded in using her. It is a grim subject, but what it means for the two of them…

"I thought I would barely have you into the first years of my old age, Solona."

"It is a priceless gift," Solona breathes, nodding.

"Yes. I do not care that this means you were the Warden-Commander without the taint running through your veins. Perhaps that was part of why the wardens from Weishaupt suspected you. Perhaps they knew. Or perhaps it truly was all about the archdemon and the Architect. But… I cannot find it in me to be anything but overjoyed, Solona. You are free of the taint."

Solona nods, taking a deep breath and looking forward, toward the Herald, toward the horizon, toward the castle that will hopefully be their new refuge. Her soul is light, her mind awash in the possibilities for a future she had not dared hope for, and her heart nearly bursts for the love of the woman sitting beside her. She thought her life more than half-over. Now?

"We might just get that cabin in the Emprise du Lion after all, my dear girl," she says, her smile mirroring Leliana's as she takes the bard's hand.


	4. Aptitude

Sweat dripped down Cassandra's back, soaking into the waistband of her trousers before it could travel lower, for which she was thankful. There were things more uncomfortable than sweat trickling down between the twin half-moons of one's arse, but still it was a unique discomfort that was rather distracting while sparring.

Taking a deep breath, Cassandra pushed forward again. Her sparring partner this morning was Krem, and the man was a much more difficult opponent than she had expected. Given that she had bested Bull a handful of times, she had not expected to have trouble with Krem. But what he lacked in Bull's strength, he more than made up for in speed. Without a shield to help, Cassandra was having a hard time keeping his blows from landing. She would have many welts the next morning. Zanneth would not be pleased.

This was part of the position of being a warrior, however. Cassandra's body was nicked with many small scars. Almost no piece of her skin was not marred by combat or age, or both. Zanneth celebrated all of it. The elf kept her distance from the scar associated with Galyan – neither of them wished to intrude upon those memories – but all others were fair game, and _part_ of Cassandra. Just as much a part of her as her hands and feet. Zanneth had come to accept that. And Cassandra had come to accept that to love the Inquisitor was to forever and always worry for the woman's safety. Measures could be taken… but nothing was guaranteed.

Truly, they had both learned this lesson.

Krem came under Cassandra's attack with a less powerful but harder to block slash of his practice sword, and Cassandra earned another welt, this time along her ribs.

Different this time, however, was a small shriek at the sword's strike.

They both stopped, turning to see a small child outside the wooden limits of the sparring ring. He had close-cropped red hair, wore clothes that were clearly too big for him, and twin pointed ears jutted out from the side of his head. He clung for dear life to the wooden post next to him. If Cassandra had to guess, she'd say he came up to her hip.

Shaking her head, Cassandra looked back to Krem, only to see him grinning. "Looks like you have a fan!" he quipped. "One tiny little cheer section!"

"I don't see any for _you_ ," Cassandra snapped. "Now. Come."

Grinning, Krem proceeded to wallop her until she had trouble moving without soreness the next day, all the while being cheered by the little elven child on the sidelines.

* * *

The next day, Cassandra found out the child was actually a little _girl_.

She was peacefully reading in the garden, calmed by the gentle magic of Skyhold rather than untrusting of it. Perhaps she should have found the temperate weather unsettling, but it was different from the type of magics of which she was suspicious. It had been woven into the very foundation of this mountain, according to Solona – who, despite their grating relationship, Cassandra _did_ trust on all subjects magical. It was not the product of a demon or blood magic. It had been put into place many, many years before Cassandra was every born. Before Andraste, before even the Blights. It was benign.

Or perhaps Cassandra had grown more tolerant of magic since knowing so many mages as personal friends (and thorns in her side, if one considered Solona).

In any event, she was sitting in her corner near the armory, a light cloak about her shoulders against the slight chill in the air. She was fully engrossed in her book, and had actually moved to the edge of the bench she was sitting upon in anticipation of the climax of the story, when a child's laugh caught her attention.

Cassandra furrowed her brow, miffed that something like that would pull her attention away from her book. Glancing up, she saw the small child from the day before. The child wielded a stick, and seemed to be fighting an imaginary fiend.

A smile pulling at her lips, Cassandra looked back down to her book. Before she could find the place she had left off, though, the child let out a shriek like the day before, and before she could help it, Cassandra was on her feet, a dagger drawn, looking for the danger.

The child was cowering along the stone wall of the ramparts, eyes on The Iron Bull as the big qunari walked by. He paused, turned to look down at the child for a moment, shook his head, and kept walking. He disappeared around the corner, heading into the tavern.

The child regained his feet. He was breathing hard, visibly shaken. When he picked his stick back up, he was trembling.

"You should not be afraid of The Iron Bull," Cassandra said, then berated herself for getting involved. What did she care of this small child?

"I… I… but the qunari is bad, ain't he?"

Cassandra pursed her lips. "Come here, child," she said. The child obeyed, coming close, his stick hanging limply at his side. "Why do you think the Inquisitor would accept Bull's help if he were an enemy of some kind?"

"Qunari burned Kirkwall to th' ground. Ma said so."

Cassandra's heartbeat quickened. "Your mother survived the qunari invasion of Kirkwall?"

The child nodded.

"What is your name, child?"

"Hannah."

"Hannah? You are a girl?"

Another nod.

Cassandra considered the girl for a moment. She was still wearing clothes too big for her, and her red hair was cropped unevenly – perhaps she had done it herself? She was very thin, and looking around, Cassandra could see no one about who might lay claim to this child.

"Hannah. Your mother. Is she here?"

"She… she died at Haven, Master Seeker."

Again, Cassandra's heart kicked in her chest. She could not be responsible for this child. But now… now she _cared_.

"I see. And you have been on your own since?"

"Aye. Flissa feeds me at th' tavern."

"And why are you not playing with the other children?" Cassandra knew there was no organized education for the children as of yet, but they had the run of Skyhold, playing many elaborate games and generally getting underfoot. Something would need to be done soon, or Skyhold would be overrun by the hellions.

"I… they won' let me." The girl fidgeted, looking at her feet.

"And why is that?"

"'Cuz I'm afraid. 'N cuz my sword skills is shite."

Cassandra almost laughed. Almost. But she managed to turn it into a scowl. "I see."

Looking up, Cassandra thought for a moment. "I can't help the other children accept you," she said. "Nor can I give you a family. But if you're willing… I can help you conquer your fear. And perhaps then the children will let you play."

"How?"

Cassandra smirked. "With the help of a friend."

* * *

"Horns up, pup!"

Cassandra watched from the sidelines as Hannah straightened.

"Sword up, too!"

The practice sword came up, as well, the point wavering, but pointing at Bull.

"Now. Charge him."

With a war cry that was just below piercing, Hannah ran forward, her sword wavering wildly as she ran down Krem. Krem easily jumped out of the way, laughing. Hannah made _such_ a noise of frustration, turned, threw her sword aside, and tackled Krem. The man was taken by surprise, and fell backwards, the little girl climbing stop him in victory.

"I won!"

Bull's laugh boomed across the courtyard.

Bull had been helping Cassandra teach the little girl for several days now. It was exhausting. Where did children get all that energy? Cassandra was a fully trained warrior who could fight and walk all day if need-be, but teaching this child had her wishing for sleep by suppertime. Bull helped. Now, Krem did, too.

"You know. She might be better suited as a fencer." Cassandra turned to find Leliana had ventured from the rookery. Her cowl was up, but a smile pulled at her lips. "Give her a wooden rapier and see how she does."

"I cannot teach her fencing, but she does not seem to have the knack for this, either," Cassandra said, making sure her lips were visible to her deaf friend. "Have you found anything out about her family?"

"Yes. Her mother was an agent of mine. They were in Orlais before coming to Haven." Leliana paused, shook her head, and said, "So much death. And myself at the head of it."

"You did not kill her mother, Leliana."

"No, but I did not stop it." She shook her head again, looking defeated.

Placing her hand upon Leliana's shoulder to get her attention, Cassandra said, "Many died at Haven. They were not all your agents, and yet they died, as well. But I know I cannot make you stop feeling guilt." Considering the girl for a moment, she got an idea. "Why don't you teach her?"

"Me?"

Cassandra nodded. "Yes. You know how to fence, and you have experience teaching others." She smirked. "If Solona could learn swordplay from you, then anyone can."

"She is not as hard-headed as you say!" Leliana retorted, but a smile did pull at her lips once more. Her eyes drifted back to the little girl, who was in an all-out wrestling match with Krem. "She certainly has spirit."

Cassandra smiled. Leliana had not said the words, but the Seeker could tell that the spymaster would take the girl as her student. Leliana turned to go, but before she left, she said, "Have her come to the rookery tomorrow after she breaks her fast. I should have some time after reviewing my morning correspondence."

* * *

Cassandra hadn't seen Hannah for almost a week. She didn't think much of it, until the girl suddenly showed up again during Cassandra's morning sparring match, this time with Ser Cauthrien.

"You, uh, have an audience," the knight said, taking a break between attacking Cassandra with a heavy wooden facsimile of her massive sword.

Cassandra, leaning on her own weapons – two today – turned to see Hannah holding tight to the wooden post once more. The Seeker glanced up to the balcony of the rookery to see Leliana observing her from afar. With what looked to be a purposeful nod, Leliana turned and disappeared inside.

Sighing, Cassandra looked back to Cauthrien. "Shall we resume this evening?"

"All right." Cauthrien smirked, gesturing behind Cassandra. "It looks like she isn't waiting until you're done."

Cassandra turned to find the girl had run up behind her. She held her wooden rapier up in her hands. "Spymaster says I ain't got th' aptitude," Hannah said, gesturing for Cassandra to take her weapon.

"Did she now?" Cassandra pursed her lips, taking in the small girl. Finally, she claimed the girl's sword. "Well, then we will just have to find some other way to make you not afraid anymore. That is what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes! Very much!"

Nodding, Cassandra took all three practice swords and deposited them with the rest. She then stalked out of the drill yard, Hannah running along behind her.

Cassandra was at her wit's end. The child was talentless! Flissa had kicked her out of the kitchens after she spoiled a precious pot of honey that had survived the trip from Haven. Solona had regretfully sent her away, claiming she might get sick from the feverish patients, though privately claiming her nervous energy set an air of unease amongst the sick. She spilled a well of Josephine's ink on an important missive while learning to write. And she still could not do anything more than tackle Krem with curses and her tiny fists.

Hannah at least seemed to no longer be afraid of The Iron Bull. In fact, she seemed to be his constant companion, perched next to him outside the drill yard as he coached his men in helping to train Inquisition recruits. But still she was hesitant to join the other children. She had no skill to bring to the table, as it were.

The politics of children would never make sense to Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne.

So she finally turned to the one person who was gone during the day and had not had the chance to see the girl.

"So, you have a shadow," Zanneth said, after Cassandra had explained her conundrum.

"I suppose you could say that, yes," the Seeker said, pulling the naked woman closer under the woolen blankets of their bed. It might be more temperate in Skyhold than the rest of the Frostbacks in the dead of winter, but the temperature still dropped low enough to freeze the dew each morning, and the heat of the forge died by the morning's light.

"You seem to really be concerned with this girl's problem," Zanneth mused, pushing away so she could smirk up at Cassandra. "Cassandra Pentaghast. You are the softest-hearted warrior there ever was!"

Cassandra let out a small chuckle. "You should see her with Bull. He dotes on her how he might his own child. Or perhaps how he would if a child joined the Chargers. Which she might just do any day now, the other children be damned."

Zanneth surprised her by laying a gentle hand upon her cheek. " _Ma vhenan_ , why is this so important to you?"

Cassandra sighed, lying back, letting Zanneth lie on her side next to her. "I was orphaned young. I had Antony, but… nobody else. We were royalty, and we lived with a death mage. The only other children around were the children of servants, but…"

"What?"

Cassandra felt her cheeks heat. It was ridiculous that this would still haunt her so, thirty-five years after the fact. "They would not play with us. With _me_. For like this little girl, I had no skill to bring to their play. Antony was a famed dragon hunter and could wield many weapons. He did not _play_ – he trained. But I was too young for such things, and my uncle thought young princesses had no place learning the skill of the blade. The hours I spent without my brother, I was alone, for the children would not even acknowledge my presence."

"You poor, wonderful thing," Zanneth breathed, and then Cassandra's lips were covered in a kiss. As she pulled back, a look came over her that communicated she had an idea. "Perhaps…"

"What?"

"Well, I was given my first bow when I was just five summers. I went on my first hunt when I was this girl's age, though my job was to listen and wait with the hunters, not to fire my weapon. Perhaps this girl just needs to be given a bow?"

"But… she is clumsy," Cassandra argued. Though, truth be told, she did not know why. It was the one thing she had not yet tried.

Zanneth fixed her with a sardonic look. "Cassandra, _all_ children are clumsy at _seven_. You say she has the patience to sit with Bull and watch hours upon hours of drill instruction. She managed an entire week with Leliana, and our spymaster did not lose her own patience once. She merely said that this girl did not have the aptitude. Perhaps she has the aptitude for hunting? The true skill is the patience. A child who can be patient without being taught? _That_ puts her miles ahead of the other children."

"How would this allow her to play with the other children?"

Zanneth grinned, causing Cassandra's heart to soar. As they settled in to some semblance of stability this winter, Cassandra was learning that, while Zanneth was indeed somber and introspective, she also liked to tease and bestow her smile upon those close to her.

"That, _emma lath_ , is where Sera comes in."

* * *

Cassandra watched from a distance as Sera and Hannah crouched behind some bushes. In the courtyard, a group of perhaps ten children – elven and human alike – ran about, playing the wargames children play. Which, it became clear as Cassandra watched, mostly involved walloping each other with sticks.

 _I can't say it's terribly different from a sparring session_ , Cassandra thought, a small smile on her lips. She still remembering the walloping Krem had delivered all those weeks ago.

As she watched, Sera prodded Hannah, and the girl stood, took aim with her tiny bow, and got a little boy square in the rump. The boy shrieked, Hannah dropped back out of sight, and the rest of the children all looked around for the source of the lone little blunt arrow.

A flash of blonde and red hair caught Cassandra's eye, and she looked to see Sera and Hannah had relocated. They waited until the sounds of the children's play grew loud once more, and then, once again, Hannah took aim. She got another child – she had _good_ aim – and then once more dropped out of sight.

The children were miffed now. Some went to check the bushes, but Sera and Hannah had melted into the ether. Apparently, Hannah had the aptitude for Sera's particular brand of mischief.

 _Nothing will ever be safe. Not with_ _ **two**_ _of them_.

It was ten minutes of play before Sera and Hannah appeared up on the ramparts.

"Oy!" Sera yelled. A few of the children stopped, looking up at Sera's call.

Hannah then stood up and lobbed… something. It sailed through the air and crashed in the middle of the playing children. At first, it seemed nothing would happen, but then the children closest yelled in confusion and ran. They were trailing… something. White and fluffy, it looked almost like the stuffing of a feather mattress.

In the mean time, two more small projectiles had been launched into the air. They sailed and landed, and then those children, too, went running. The shrieks of terror abated quickly, however, turning quickly into squeals of laughter.

Cassandra squinted, trying to see what it was Sera and Hannah were throwing. "What in the…"

Hannah was laughing now. As Cassandra watched, she rushed down the stairs, lobbing another flask as she went. The children now rejoiced, picking up the white, fluffy substance that was growing in volumes as flasks were thrown into it.

"I knew she'd have an aptitude for something."

Cassandra turned around to see that Zanneth had snuck up behind her without making a sound.

"I take it you took her out with you into the woods and taught her how to move so soundlessly?"

Zanneth nodded, grinning. "She'll be able to go on a true hunting trip soon. She really does have a knack for the bow. And, as you can see, for pranks."

"So Sera taught her that part, then?"

Zanneth's grin turned to a smirk. "I have performed my share of tricks, Cassandra. I had to, if I was to survive having a little brother."

Cassandra chuckled. Turning back to the children, she said, "I once put ink in Antony's tea."

"You did?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "His teeth were black for a _week_."

"Cassandra Pentaghast."

"What?"

"You _do_ have a mischievous side!"

Cassandra harrumphed. "Just… don't tell Solona."

Laughing, Zanneth took her hand, nuzzling into Cassandra's side. "I won't, _emma lath_. It will remain between you and I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even remember why, but I got this idea the other day - what might happen if some child took a liking to Cassandra? What might that look like? I imagined her treating the child like a small adult, while understanding that children do not actually respond like adults.
> 
> Then it turned into her seeking help everywhere, because while Hannah has no aptitude for anything, Cass has no aptitude for children.
> 
> Enjoy!


End file.
